


Winter Days

by penintime



Category: Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penintime/pseuds/penintime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold midwinter day, Tenar and Ged leave the comfort of Ogion's house on the Overfell to return to Oak Farm and visit Tenar's son and his new family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteLadyoftheRing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/gifts).



On a cold bright day of their fifth winter in Ogion’s house, Tenar put down her mending and stood up from her chair by the hearth. Ged looked up at her from his chair, hands still busy working beeswax into the softening leather shoe in his lap. On the smooth, broad boards of Ogion’s floor, the little dog and the old cat lifted their heads, loosening the furry brown knot of cat-dog they had formed. Together, they waited for Tenar to speak, knowing she had made her decision. 

She stood a while. “I will go tomorrow,” she said. “I must see my grandchild.” She looked at the three of them, all silent, looking at her earnestly and carefully, not judging, not speaking, meowing or panting. “Oh, I have to go!” Ged nodded. “Of course,” he said, “would you like me to come?” “Oh,” she mumbled again, blinking away tears. “I would like that very much! It’s just that, I know how the two of you do not get on. I can’t bear his quarreling.” Ged stood, and held his arms out to her. “It has been two years, perhaps he will have changed, as his life has changed. If not, I trust there are other things to occupy his mind, this time.” They embraced in front of the dying embers of the fire, the cat-dog knot tying itself tight once more.

Come morning, they rose early and stiffly, the tidy house feeling empty and unwarmed, seeming uninhabited already. The packs waiting by the door were light and hoisted up easily, though Tenar knew they would grow heavy with the day, their old creaky backs no longer used to carrying. Some food, their rolled up blanket cloaks, and a pouch of medicinal herbs, that was all. They would break their fast on the road; they needed to get down the mountain quickly to have any hope of catching a ride with some cart from one of the villages in the early hours. They set off, cat-dog scurrying and barking confusedly between their feet as they made their way through the little garden they had dug together, now covered in mulch to insulate from the whip of the winter winds. “Shoo!” Ged whispered softly at the tangle of paws and tails as he nearly tripped over them. The brown furry creature split in two and chased away, one after the other, towards Heather’s cottage, where they would be welcome as always and spoiled with bowls of cream and all the left overs they could eat. 

Tenar reached out and grabbed Ged’s hand in the velvety darkness. “I have grown too comfortable in this house, it seems. Here with you. I would rather stay here than go down to his farm, that dense stone house and those dense people. Even my own grandchild cannot draw me from here but slowly, reluctantly...” She breathed the high sea air deeply as they came out on the little path that snaked around the house, skirting the cliffs. “I wonder, will we even be welcome..?” Ged squeezed her hand lightly. “He sent for you” he said, softly. She sighed. “A courtesy. Unless, perhaps he expects me to move in and help with the child.” She coughed a bitter little laugh. “I wonder what his bride would say about that; having her husband’s mother to grapple with. Supposing she has anything to say at all. I always said he would get some fool woman to wait on him!” They were coming down the little path from the cliffs onto where it joined with the little road going past Re Albi, past the heath and shrub land and nearing the edge of the forest. 

Tenar fell silent, her mood darkening as she went further from her own hearth, from Ogion’s house on the Overfell, full of warm memories and the fruits of their combined efforts, the life they had built together at the edge of the cliff. Her memories of Oak Farm, of Goha with her family in that past life, were not dark- but they carried with them a bitter taste, of milk gone sour. When she thought of her son at the farm he had claimed from her and his sullen disrespect for Ged- indeed even for her; the stubbornness with which he, over the past five years, had overturned every one of the small changes she had introduced in the running of things since Flint’s death, she wanted to turn right back up the mountain. Instead, she pressed Ged’s hand lightly. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and smooth, like old leather, yet deeply lined with age. His touch, as always, brought her back to her still center. 

She felt herself relax, and whispered to him, to the darkness slowly giving way to dawn: “It’s not right, the birth of my grandchild... I should be overjoyed. But all I can taste is bitterness.” Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked them away, like she always did. Ged walked silent beside her for a few paces. “Ever since word came from Oak Farm, your mood has been darkening steadily. In the past few days, even the chickens have slept with one eye open.” She could hear him smile, that little sniff he made, oh- she loved it so! “ Your disappointment in Spark, in his choices, his character, has been eating you all this time, ever since he came back. He feels it too, you know, and it pains him.” She looked at him, in the mist made by their steaming breath. Here, the road through the woods was crooked and knobbly with twisted tree roots. Soon they would come upon the cart road and the going would be easier; but this part was treacherous and required concentration lest they should stumble, and they walked in silence once more.

Later, they sat close together amongst bobbing cabbages and turnips on the back of a cart going inland, down into frosted farmlands and orchards. The boy holding the reins whistled a tune and now and then snorted and spat loudly, decidedly disinterested in the strange old couple he’d picked up, for reasons he wasn’t quite aware. It had seemed difficult to say no to the pale lady with the intense stare, and that intriguingly scarred fellow who seemed at once ancient and boyish. 

Trees clad in glorious, glittering white reached over the lane and the sun flickered in through the branches and treetops like golden tongues. Tenar and Ged shared some bread and dried berries, waited for the goat’s milk to thaw in its skin in the warmth between them before drinking, one after the other, of the sweet, cold milk. It was good. Ged tucked the skin into his pack. “Things change, people change.” he said. Tenar touched his arm and looked down at her feet dangling off the cart. She wanted to believe it, somehow knowing it to be true yet was not able to feel it in her heart. The frozen ground rolled past underneath them as if it was being wound on some vast potter’s wheel. She felt her head start to spin a little, and memories of childhood came over her. It was her children’s childhood, not her own; or, perhaps, the one she could have had. She remembered watching as Flint drove down the orchard lane, the cart shaking violently on the stony ground and the children in the back, hooping with laughter as they were thrown about. The feeling of intense happiness and that ever present ball of worry in her stomach. Motherhood. It never really went away. Spark vomited afterwards, green-faced, yet as soon as he recovered he was running after the cart again, trying to scramble back on to join his older sister. He had her stubbornness, she thought.

As the afternoon light began to fade they were back on foot. They walked down the hill towards the farm, passing little fields and orchards where Goha and Flint, and later Tenar and Ged, had worked. On their last visit, the state of the farm had upset her, there had been a shift in the atmosphere; a sense of things starting to deteriorate. Tools had been scattered about the place, left outside to rust. A kitchen window was broken and the wooden frame had started to swell on the inside. She had tried to ignore it, to be only a happy house guest, to hold back the lecture he was clearly dreading, but her son, too, had a sense of deterioration about him, as if there was a rot on his soul. Still she had bitten her tongue, spoke harshly instead to poor Shandy, who instantly forgave her, making her feel awful. Then she saw the chicken shed, where bleary eyed hens had startled at her, nervous and ill fed. The little house had a stench about it that made your eyes water. She strode right up to her son then and told him that ill-treated hens laid bad eggs, that there was a rot at the heart of Oak Farm and that whatever it was that had happened to him on that ship, he’d better drop it right back into the ocean before everything went sour. She left that evening, and they had not spoken since. And then, three years later, two days ago, word came up the mountain; farmer Spark of Oak Farm asking his mother at Mage Ogion’s house on the Overfell to please come quickly as a grandchild was coming.

Now, in spite of her worry, the air felt lighter. The dry stone walls lining the fields and orchards had been repaired after the autumn storms which every year shook them apart. Fat little sheep grazed happily on golden, sweet smelling hay; and as they came up to the house, she stopped, very nearly rubbing her eyes in disbelief. On the door hung a frostbrush wreath, bound with colored ribbons. The windows had been washed. A Sunreturn lantern glimmered on the front step. They walked up to the door together and knocked. A moment later, the door opened. The smiling man spoke some words and she heard Ged replying. They were motioned to come inside, where clean rag carpets covered floor boards scrubbed to a shine, a little dog waking up in it’s basket rolled its red tongue out in a great luxurious yawn. The man came towards her, took her cold hands and spoke to her again, calling her “Mother”. Only then did it dawn on her that this man was her son, was her Spark. The surly youth had gone, leaving room for the man. He had grown up, and in doing so had become her smiling boy once more. 

In the evening, when they had sung the Winter Carol, and Spark and Ged had taken turns reciting the Deeds; Spark sung to them a new ballad he'd heard in the village. It was a sad song, of lost love and grieving of that which will never be. Afterwards, they sat a while in silence around the hearth; Ged and Tenar, holding her sleeping grandchild and Spark and his wife, leaning into eachother. The child moved sleepily in Tenar's arms as she drank in the sight of her, the round cheek and dark eyelashes, the tiny, fat fingers. Tenar knew that even if she never saw her again, she would forever remember every detail of that face, it was etched in her heart. She whispered to the little girl, "You are protected, little one. By so much love." She looked up to find Spark looking at her, smiling. "Having a dragon, Tenar of the Ring, and an archmage in the family doesn't hurt either."

They shared spiced wine and honey cakes, and when Tenar stood up to clear the table, Spark stopped her. "No, no, we'll take care of this. Why don't you and Ged go for a walk; why don't you visit Shandy, I know he is eager to see you both. Tierra and I can wash up, the baby is asleep." He didn't wait for her answer, just took the plates. They left Spark and Tierra laughing and bickering over the dirty dishes and went outside into the cold, crisp night. Tenar drew a long gulp of air and watched as her breath billowed out in front of her, a white cloud illuminated by the square of light of the window. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd cast a spell on this house. A wise man once said, people change. I didn't believe him. But look at this." She didn't know what to say, there was too much. Ged took her hand in the dark. The ground was glittering with frost, blades of grass snapping and breaking under their feet. As they walked down the lane, snowflakes started to fall; big as feathers, appearing slowly and quietly out of the empty darkness above. "It is too cold to snow! Oh!" Tenar stopped and buried her face in Ged's neck, sobbing. He stood there, solid. "I remember a solstice long ago, I spent the long night alone at sea, in a leaky boat. How tired I was! I set out in that boat one man, and came back another... I came to you at the overfell on the back of a dragon, today we rode here together on a cabbage cart. Every journey changes you. Spark went away a boy, and I think he saw things, things that changed him. When he came back, everything was changing - you, his home, his world. It was a hard time to be a young man. It still is, perhaps, but less so. Everything had changed- so he stayed the same, I think. But now, well... Now, he's come back to himself. A wife and daughter! That is powerful magic indeed. I should know." Tenar looked up at him. A thin layer of snow had settled on them both. "Yes," she said. "it is."


End file.
